..and there was no one to talk to me
i had hoped so,
it was preposterous
to lie, even if it didn’t happen
in any way i would have told it.
at least, Martha didn’t
mention it
in the morning
or perhaps she hadn’t noticed
it: she had mentioned that she was going
blind
but i didn’t believe her, eagle eyes she had
green and blue and gray and hungry, but now old
sitting still
by the radio, waiting for the mystery play
they stopped playing twenty years ago
..or had that been Jerry, before he went down to Florida
for the other glass
eye
to be put in
“fitted, they said..” he spit and hacked and shook
“..like it’s fit to do that.”
and he ran his hand over his cane, the other tight
around the handle, pressing his lips white
..i don’t think it matters, at least the moment
when i had gotten up
and noticed it staring at me:
a bit vicious, but polite. right there
first thing in the morning
a scar without introductions, familiar
with me and my habits, strong and deep.
..and so the scar had been with me
all day
quiet and noticeable, alarming passersby. in the park
a little girl wanted to touch it
and asked me if it would bite her hand off
her mother, they’re so young now they’re all so young,
pulled the girl along to other side
“..didn’t i tell you? didn’t i tell you to stay away from dirty old men..?”
but i think the mother said that because i had the impression
that there were moments when the scar smiled:
a smile that said, “I don’t give a shit anymore.”
something that Stanley would have said
if he had the chance to say something when they broke
into his house,
but he had been sleeping when they took the t.v.
and the doctors said it didn’t take much
pressure
from the pillow they must have put over his head
to knock a guy out at seventy-two.
we couldn’t believe that he didn’t outlive us
when he said he’d dance on our graves.
…and when i had thought about it
slowly, as slow as it gets these days,
i remember that Martha has been dead
too, but i can still hear her listening
for a mystery play on the radio.